


Sesh

by rocksafella



Series: drabbles for the drab-feeling [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Drug Use, Gore, M/M, but also super sweet, seriously its super gorey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 17:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocksafella/pseuds/rocksafella
Summary: What began then was something that had somehow become a tradition between them. It had started as just Ray, alone on the roof night after night. Michael had started thirsting after Gavin and Ray wasn’t one to get pissy about his best friend finally finding someone to keep up with him, so he hadn’t bothered to ask him to join his roof escapades. Instead, he’d contented himself with his own company- that was, until he and Ryan started accidentally colliding.It had started off as an accident, anyway.





	Sesh

**Author's Note:**

> if you didnt read the warnings, the beginning of this thing has some super descriptive scenes w violence so uh. careful of that. otherwise carry on

The cigarette had been long and crisp once, but now it was burning down towards its middle. Ray took a hard drag, legs splayed out into the street where cars would have parked if it hadn’t been well into the early morning. Behind him in the derelict building he could hear Ryan still wailing on the poor asshole that’d stolen half a shipment of guns and coke from Geoff and  _ then _ dimed him out to the LSPD- it’d been an annoyance more than anything, but now that the Lost were riding on their asses, Geoff couldn’t afford to ignore the little things anymore.

 

Ray almost cringed as he heard something bone-like give. On one hand, the sounds emitting from the building were disgusting and pitiful. On the other, Ray didn’t care  _ and _ the guy was a thief and a talker. And everyone knew the rhyme-  _ snitches get stitches, talkers get walkers. _ Although, he was sure this guy would get more than stitches. “Ryan,” he called, rolling slowly to his feet, discarding his cigarette and dusting his ass off as he went. He hooked a hand on the trim around the doorway, leaning in thanks to the lack of an actual  _ door _ . “Dude stop- quit  _ hitting him _ for ten seconds. Ryan. Ryan!” Ray barked, finally getting the man’s attention. He refused the shudder that tried to pop goosebumps over his skin at the sight of the blood thrown across Ryan’s skull mask.

 

“Geoff wants him alive. You uh, got that memo, right?” Ray couldn’t keep the humor from his voice. He was sure Geoff had insisted and reminded Ryan of the fact that he needed this lowlife to send a message to the Lost, but sometimes Ryan needed a reminder of their specific orders. His object of violence, a forty-something lowlife with an  _ extensive _ record of human and substance abuse looked more like a raspberry slushie now, face so messed up Ray wasn’t sure he’d come out looking like anything but an olive flounder when he healed. 

 

Ray could practically see Ryan trying to figure out a way to continue his fun, Ray could almost see those blue eyes flicking between Ray and Ground McBeef. Ryan eventually let him go, however, dropping the collar of his shirt so his head lolled to the side with the momentum of freedom. The guy had obviously passed out a long time ago. Ray remembered the Fake pin in his pocket and clicked his tongue at Ryan, tossing him the little green and black enamel pin. With it gently fixed into the guy’s bloody cotton shirt, the message was sealed addressed and wax-stamped. After sending a quick picture to Geoff, the two men ducked out of the house and into the street.

 

Two blocks down and down an alleyway there was a backpack waiting for them that had new clothes for Ryan and somewhere to stash his mask. Ray waited for him at the mouth of the alley while he changed, moving quickly and efficiently even if it was unlikely anybody would bother them. After shoving his mask into the backpack and putting it back where it’d been hidden so their B team could clean everything for them, Ryan joined Ray. 

 

They had the rest of the night to themselves and morbidly, after his brief mental comparison of the mushy-faced target to raspberry slushie, Ray wanted one. He waited a minute or two to ask Ryan, giving them some distance between the alley. After a moment or two, Ray got Ryan’s attention, awkwardly turning his hands to make a 7 and 11- his right hand with his pointer and thumb in a ninety degree angle turned on it’s head, his other a peace sign- and then crossed them. It wasn’t a real sign, Ray didn’t have the attention span to learn those, but Ryan got the message perfectly. He snorted, nodding, and Ray put his hands back into his pockets knowing he’d gotten his way. Not that it was ever hard with Ryan, he was usually glad to provide Ray with whatever he wanted.

 

It took some navigation and eventually a reluctant Google search, but they eventually found the closest location. Ryan wordlessly handed Ray his wallet and Ray traded him for his pack of smokes. The  _ mi-maw _ of the alert bell didn’t send any clerks running to the counter, so Ray took his sweet ass time walking up and down the aisles, picking out candies and chips and even some jerkey (not necessarily for him, Ryan would eat most of it and Ray knew that well enough.)

 

He dumped it all on the counter and left it all once again to head toward the slushie machines. He filled the biggest cup he could with the coke slush, knowing better than to get anything else. They all tastes fake, but at least their coke/pepsi slushies weren’t  _ aggressively _ fake, like soy cheese or tofurkey. 

 

As a second thought, Ray went back around to the coolers to find a bottle of diet coke. And then he was also snatching two redbulls to fuel himself later. He was lucky Ryan didn’t give a shit about money otherwise he’d end up owing him something absurd. By the time he got back to the counter with everything, the clerk was there- some lanky pizza faced teenager Ray was sure didn’t want to be here right now. He decided to be a decent human for once, instead of just using firearms to pay like usual.

 

The clerk shoved everything into two plastic bags (but the slushie, obviously- but also because Ray wouldn’t put it down and give him the chance to absent mindedly put it in with everything else) and Ray went about pulling the biggest bill Ryan had from his wallet. Everything only ended up being just over thirty dollars, but Ray smacked down a fifty anyway and snatched his food and drinks, balancing them and his slushie on the way out, not bothering to care about change. Both he and Ryan had more money than they knew what to do with at this point. 

 

Once he was outside Ryan automatically took one of the plastic bags from him and Ray appreciated it more than he let on. Ray’s strength went only as far as his own body weight and that was usually only when he was in motion, fleeing from the LSPD or parkouring, which took his already minimal mass and lessened it even further. The snacks weren’t horribly weighty but Ray also had the slushie to take care of and his capacity to do multiple things at once was minimal this early in the day.

 

\----

 

By the time they got back to the penthouse the sun was leaking into the night sky so Ray tried to limit how much noise he and Ryan made on their way to the roof. He had to dip into his room to get his supplies, dumping everything he needed into a ratty backpack so he didn’t have to make two trips with the snacks still hanging off one arm.

 

Ryan is up on the roof already waiting for him with half the snacks (and the slushie) when Ray finally works his way up. He shuts the hatch securely, throwing the deadbolt into place just in case. Nobody really cared about what they did up here but it wasn’t cool being interrupted.

 

The snacks were already arranged in a more or less pleasing way or at least the ones Ryan had taken up with him had been, so Ray handed over the ones he’d kept with him and Ryan went to work finishing his job. While he did that, Ray set up in his own way. He pulled the ratty blanket he’d shoved in his bag, lazily spreading it out so he and Rye didn’t have to sit on the rough surface of the roof. Following the blanket came a little snap-close purse and a twisty little bong. It was a gift from Michael, a little baby pink thing adorned with things like polymer clay bows and hello-kitty stickers- it hadn’t been meant as a cruel joke, however. Ray fucking adored it, a little more than necessary and it had earned the affectionate name Percival. 

 

He set the bong down with the purse, reaching into the backpack and pulling out a handful of lighters, five or six of varying color and shape. Ray never knew which would give out and which would work well and it was easier to just grab a million than bother to go back to his room for a new one. Satisfied that he had everything, he set the backpack aside and settled on one edge of the blanket, Percival, the purse and lighters in front of him. To one side, Ryan had finally gotten the snacks in an order that pleased him, all of them within reach but in some sense of categoric order. He took the other edge of the blanket across from Ray, diet coke in hand, the other holding the slushie (which he extended towards Ray, much to the boy’s delight.)

 

What began then was something that had somehow become a  _ tradition _ between them. It had started as just Ray, alone on the roof night after night. Michael had started thirsting after Gavin and Ray wasn’t one to get pissy about his best friend finally finding someone to keep up with him, so he hadn’t bothered to ask him to join his roof escapades. Instead, he’d contented himself with his own company- that was, until he and Ryan started accidentally colliding. 

 

It had started off as an accident, anyway.

 

Ryan had snuck up to the roof for a cigarette, wanting to take advantage of the nice weather instead of just leaning out his window and there sat Ray, headphones over his ears, back to the hatch door- blissfully unaware of Ryan.

 

Initially, Ryan had thought about retreating, taking the elevator down to the bottom floor to walk around the streets below, but something made him stop. It wasn’t the puffs of rank smoke that occasionally floated away from Ray, either- it’d been around the time the crew was finally becoming a  _ crew _ and by then, he and Ray had been on a few missions as a team.

 

So he’d climbed the rest of the way up, trying his best not to startle Ray. Ryan had expected the lad to get sour about him intruding but after initially being startled, Ray had offered him a place on his blanket and access to his munchies. They’d spent a few nights like that, smoking together on the roof, Ray moreso than Ryan- and then a few more nights. And then a few more until it had just become a thing.

 

Even if they didn’t do all their heists together, even with the new additions and resignations from the crew- even if Geoff had them working harder than ever, Ray and Ryan still quietly made time to continue their little ritual. Now they almost had it down to a science- one of them got snacks and whatever else they needed, the other made sure there was enough to smoke both of them out and blankets to sit on and finally somewhere to fit it all together.

 

 

Today, though, it was easy. Neither of them felt rushed or overly tired and as Ray set to grinding the weed (pulled from the clip-closed purse), Ryan lit a cigarette and reached for the salt-vinegar chips. They had an order to things by now, which usually followed the format of Ray taking the first few bowls while Ryan finished a cigarette before joining him. It wasn’t that Ray felt he deserved anything more than Ryan, their order just always  _ been _ . Less of an agreement, more things easily falling into place.

 

Ryan holds his free hand out and after a second, Ray stops squinting at it and understands what he wants. He digs his phone out of his pocket, handing it over. After fiddling with it for a minute or two, Ryan’s thumbs not used to the tiny keys, he finds a song he likes and lays the phone between himself and Ray.

 

Ray isn’t sure who the artist is, an easy voice crooning about  _ I, for one, have seen the sun _ \- but the tune is good, it’s easy. When he and Michael had seshed, moons and moons ago as teens, he’d always wanted to listen to things that gave Ray some mild anxiety. Fast paced songs with background noises that set Ray on edge. His and Ryan’s music tastes meshed together much easier: they didn’t necessarily like the same artists but the pacing matched far easier. It also said a lot that they didn’t complain about each other’s music, both of them occasionally going so far as to send each other songs if they were apart. 

 

Ray starts humming the tune to peaches,  _ moving to the country, gonna eat a lotta peaches,  _ and Ryan joins in via a rhythm tapped out on the knees of his heavy jeans. He passes a smoke to Ray from his pack and the sniper gladly accepts, leaning close so Ryan can light it for him. The tune gets interrupted every time Ray takes a drag but Ryan fills in for him with the beat and eventually, when Ryan’s song ends he searches peaches up for them both.

 

They spend a while like that, passing Percival and Ryan’s cigarettes back and forth, the music filling the white noise of the sleeping city. It’s closer to wake-up time than not by the time they’re both content. Ray has his legs splayed out, feet just barely reaching Ryan’s hips. He’s cold, having abandoned his hoodie somewhere but not possessing the energy to look for it. Ryan notices his chattering teeth and holds his cigarette out to him, wavering it in his hand until Ray takes it- at which point he shrugs his jacket off and hands it over. Ray gladly takes it, thankful for the body warmth, his perception happily narrowed down to touch and sound. Everything has a pleasant lag like he’s an overloaded Windows 98 processor, but Ray doesn’t mind. He sits there for a minute, cigarette held gently between his lips, before he decides this isn’t good enough. Not the jacket, or the cigarette- what isn’t good enough is his proximity to Ryan. 

 

Neither of them are overly tactile, not the kind of people for hand holding or excessive public displays of affection- but high as he is, Ray  _ wants _ . He moves slowly, shaky like a newborn animal. He nudges and pokes at Ryan’s chest, sitting up on his knees, until the man makes space to accommodate him- chuckling at how insistent Ray is about it. He settles in Ryan’s lap happily, head resting where Ryan’s shoulder meets the tendons of his neck. Ryan’s hands settle on his hips and alright, it isn’t because he’s  _ trying _ but something about the little action makes Ray’s heart jump a bit. Neither of them are interested in constantly fucking, they aren’t Jeremy and Gavin after all, which means it’s been some time. Ray’s probably gotten off between then and now, not that he keeps track, but it’s not the same as someone else’s influence.

He ignores it, though, the twisting in his stomach. It’s hot and almost uncomfortable and  _ entirely _ unnecessary. He’s just enjoying Ryan’s company. They also have to clean up, too, which after a moment is something Ryan seems keen on. They don’t have to put anything away until tomorrow, neither of them care enough, but Ryan isn’t keen on sleeping on the roof- and Ray can’t say he disagrees with that.

 

 

\----

 

They spend almost half an hour cleaning up, mostly because Ray is too helter-skelter and off balance to really concentrate. Ryan is far less fucked up, thank christ- he does most of the work. He also ends up almost carrying Ray to bed, which makes the eager heat coiling in Ray’s middle worse. So he likes to be man-handled, it’s not like anybody in this industry was a sweet innocent vanilla bean anyway.

 

Ryan fixes his bed a bit, Ray perched in the arm chair by the closet while he waits. He’s not tired but he has his head lolled back against the back of the chair, enjoying the slight stretch it puts on his tendons and spine. He doesn’t notice any time has passed but Ryan’s there suddenly, one of his big hands curling around Ray’s ribcage to help him up and out of the chair. He steadies him, sinking into the mass of blankets and mattress before he beckons the younger man to follow. Ray must surprise him when he doesn’t just burrow into Ryan’s side, however, because when he climbs to settle his knees on either side of Ryan’s hips he gets quite the look. 

 

And okay, alright- maybe he didn’t help much with cleaning because he liked it when Ryan got mock-frustrated with him and physically  _ moved him _ just to put something in a bag or gather up the blanket. Maybe he’s a little shit and he wants the rough handling because he’s missed it, so what,  _ sue him _ , he gets needs sometimes. It’s rare, but it  _ happens _ and this time Ray was blaming it all on Ryan. If he could have looked a little less like a fucking masterpiece while also somehow being a mass murderer maybe Ray wouldn’t have been so stupid-into him.

 

In any case, Ray ignores the look and grabs for one of Ryan’s big hands instead. And they are big, at least compared to his own. Ryan’s hands are full of callouses and scars, places where the fingers are crooked from never healing properly. Ray’s hands are skeletal, dainty and meant for fine work. Two of his fingers are crooked after a particularly bad heist and all his scars are fairly small, save for one across two of his knuckles- in comparison to Ryan’s hands he must look like he plays the piano for a living. It’s Ray’s favorite thing, the fact that his slender spiderish fingers fit cleanly between Ryan’s bulky ones.

 

He doesn’t link them together, however, choosing instead to spread Ryan’s fingers out and keep going until the scarred skin on his palm was pulled taut. Instead of teasing him Ray just idly drew spirals in the center of it and built them outwards, making a slow rhythm out of it. Ray didn’t initially plan on getting fixated on it, he’d meant to have it lead to something but drugs have a way of distracting people pretty flawlessly. Ray was still high enough to get lost in the repetitive action, eyes focusing in on his own hand and the center of Ryan’s.

 

A hand on his hip startled him back into awareness and after a second he realized it was Ryan’s- apparently he was as interested in continuing Ray’s previous plans as Ray was. He leans up and Ray meets him halfway, kissing careful if only to nudge Ryan to take what he wants instead of waiting- he was only just a little curious to see if Ryan was as starved as he was and thank  _ god _ it turned out he was. Ray didn’t even care that he could feel Ryan’s face paint (that he hadn’t fucking taken off, what the  _ hell _ dude) rubbing off on him. It’d come off on the pillows and sheets and then it would be Ryan’s problem later. 

 

They’re familiar in a way that, if he had the capacity, Ray would note with glee. It’s intimacy he was denied as a young child, as a lonely teenager- it’s love that isn’t faked for the three or so hour hookups, for the twenty four, forty eight hour parties. Ryan runs his hands slow from Ray’s hips up to where his binder sits and then his hands pause even if his kisses don’t. Ray pushes the pads of his fingers into Ryan’s shoulders for a moment and that’s all the answer the man needs. They separate only long enough for Ryan to unhook the one side of Ray’s binder and help him out of it and then back into his sweater- another thing Ray is thankful of. Ryan (and maybe Michael) could be counted as the one person who didn’t bother to question why Ray would shimmy out of a binder but not a sweater when intimacy was part of the equation. He liked the idea of touch but don’t look- it meant he didn’t have to see himself either. 

 

They spend some time like that, explorational hands and unhurried kisses, before Ray makes the mistake (or is it) of sitting back down on Ryan’s hips. His ass rests right over a  _ very _ telling bump and the sound Ryan makes is hilariously scandalized, like he hadn’t expected Ray to pull something like that and to be fair- he probably hadn’t. Ray doesn’t rest his whole weight on his butt, just enough so his thighs stop shaking and his knees don’t hurt as much. Ryan doesn’t follow him up though, choosing instead to rest his thumbs over the faint bumps Ray’s hip bones make under his skin. They watch each other for a second but it isn’t awkward and it certainly isn’t predatory- not in the way Ray is used to, criminals sitting across from each other in ‘diplomatic’ meetings like apex predators regarded one another across a meadow. The in-between was calm but all either side needed was a small opening, anything to get at the other’s throat.

 

The way Ryan regarded Ray now, perched over his hips, was  _ nothing _ like that. Maybe his intentions were out of hunger but it wasn’t the kind that made Ray want to keep Ryan in his sights all the time. He trusted this man, who’d killed more people than years Ray had been alive- he trusted him more than he trusted anyone else in their crew. Even Michael, who Ray had essentially grown up with, surviving their way from a shit childhood to the glory that came with the Fakes.

 

Ryan gets a cheeky look all of a sudden and Ray doesn’t have time to prepare, calculate and estimate what Ryan’s going to do, he doesn’t even have the  _ capacity _ , not quite functioning-high yet, still dangling at absolutely blasted. He’s easily surged onto his back, Ryan maneuvering them so Ray’s plump thighs are hugging his waist and Ryan’s hands have him held down by his ribcage, his middle fingers just shy of meeting at Ray’s spine. 

 

Ray isn’t mad about it at all. If he’d been sober he’d like to think he’d playfight over it, haggle Ryan and wiggle just to give him trouble but Ray knows it’s unlikely. He gladly helps Ryan wiggle him out of his pants, underthings following simply because of how tight the denim was. Ray can’t help the inelegant snort that pops out of him when Ryan can’t immediately slide Ray’s jeans off him, fighting the fabric when it clings to his calves. When it all finally comes off, Ray struggles to stop himself from giving into the finger that tries to smear through his happy-lucky mood- the stab of mild dysphoria at his body, the image in his head sliding against but failing to click together with the physical he’d been presented instead. His face must do something screwy because Ryan stretches one of his legs out just to kiss his bony little ankle. 

 

It probably wasn’t planned, they usually both rush to connect and then wind up slowing down but today seems to be a rare day indeed- Ryan takes his sweet fucking time nipping and kissing a trail from Ray’s knees up past the insides of his thighs to where they connect with the rest of him, laying a few dark marks right where his legs connect with his hips. He’s drawing it out and for once it’s not to tease. Ray gets huffy and impatient with him despite how nice it is to be cherished.

 

He puffs out a sound and arcs his spine, wiggling between Ryan’s hands on his hips. All he gets for his efforts is a chiding bite right over the bump of his hip. Ray’s heart momentarily stalls- it’s not just a playful little nibble this time. It’s not mean, Ryan doesn’t take a chunk out of him or anything, but he can feel Ryan’s teeth almost individually. When they’d first started falling into bed together Ray hadn’t been into the biting, the scratching, he’d been quiet and bottled like he’d learned to be. Ryan, like the drugs, had a way of changing Ray. He’d encouraged the sounds, he’d even liked it the first time Ray accidentally ruined the skin over his shoulder blades the first time they’d fucked proper. 

 

Ray wondered if Ryan regretted it now- considering he made a noise that was  _ way _ too loud for how asleep everyone  _ absolutely was _ in the penthouse. Ryan released his skin, however, a red outline of his chompers left instead. He hadn’t bitten hard but he’d held on long enough that there might even be a mark the next day. Ray was kinda in love with the idea. 

 

Ryan teased him without remorse, kissing toward his cunt with obvious intent only to dip back away to press messy kisses to the very insides of Ray’s thighs where his tendons strained. It took Ray practically thrashing, arms thrown over his face to muffle some of his sounds, for Ryan to actually (literally) put his fucking money where his mouth was. He hiked Ray’s legs to rest over his shoulders, hands coming around to cup his hips so he didn’t have to strain to hold himself up, not bothering to tease him further- it could be called mercy but Ray doubts that’s really what it is. Ryan has his own motives, Ray knows better than to assume he’s being sweet for the sake of it. 

 

He doesn’t allow Ray to fuss and demand like he normally does, one of his hands sliding up to push down on his tummy just below his smiling scar, the other following when Ray doesn’t get the message until he’s got his hips pinned down and no options left but to take whatever Ryan gives him. It’s  _ delicious _ torture, Ray hates him for it.

 

Ryan doesn’t let Ray come, he brings him so fucking close enough times that Ray finally lets out a gulping sound, an almost-sob he catches in his throat before it can break out loud and desperate. This seems to be the cue Ryan was waiting for because he pulls back and away from Ray, resettling his legs on either side of his own hips. Ray doesn’t stop him, either- he can feel the shaking in his hips and thighs that isn’t entirely from straining and pushing against Ryan. He feels a blood-hot fingertip trace the line of the scar on his stomach, surgical and gently curved, almost in line with the bumps of his hip bones and he  _ shudders _ like he’s still a teenager and touches like these are a new concept. He’d been shy of showing it, his ‘ _ gut smile _ ’ as Gavin had so elegantly put it- but Ryan had quickly trained him out of it.

 

When he’s sure he won’t embarrass himself by looking like a debauched starlet he takes his arms away from his face and well, fuck his life- Ryan continues to be fucking gorgeous.  _ Especially _ after giving head- his paint is smeared and his long hair is just the right amount of out of place, he’s got a rosy flush and he’s  _ still _ looking at Ray like he’s a buffet and Ryan hasn’t eaten anything but instant noodles for weeks. 

 

He’s also  _ so obviously _ into how messy Ray must look and that in itself is fucking fantastic to think about. Ray squirms his hips a bit against Ryan, happily enjoying how the flush spreads from his cheeks to his ears and then bleeds out further- he hasn’t even popped the fucking button on his jeans, no wonder he looks like he might devour Ray whole. He’s got permission now, though, but he still moves slow- like Ray is still some easily spooked animal.

 

The fact that he doesn’t even take off any of his clothes shouldn’t be as great as it is but Ray once again finds himself just a bit warmer. He doesn’t need to look like a debauched starlet if he feels like one. Ryan might treat him like gold and gems but Ray knows to anyone else it’d look like a much different exchange and he  _ loves it _ . Usually when they fuck there’s some semblance of planning before it, Ryan isn’t a huge fan of getting his clothes messy or having to stop for anything but Ray is glad he’s decided to forget his usual practices. 

 

Ray, the helpful angel he is, assists Ryan in freeing himself of his denim prison but only because it’s mostly a reward for himself. Ryan continues to tease him, hiking Ray’s hips up to be at  _ his _ level knowing it leaves Ray without anything to push or brace against- meaning he can’t fuss like he wants to. Ray wishes he could say he hates him but it would be a lie and fibbing is Gavin’s forte.

 

By the time Ryan starts fucking him proper, Ray is noisy, an achievement on Ryan’s part considering Ray has never been happy about hearing himself in this particular situation- but he’s not really paying attention to himself anyway. Ray twists the blankets and sheets up in his hands, fists clenching the fabric like anchors. Ryan punches noises out of him, motions rough but meant with love, the man well aware of what Ray needs. 

 

Ray’s got his eyes shut tight, salty tears threatening the edges, so fucking close it would just take  _ one more _ thrust- and instead Ryan stops abruptly. Ray’s whole body gives a violent shudder and for a second he can’t get his breathing under control. It’s unfortunate for Ryan when he does because immediately Ray is snapping and whining and cussing him out, head thrown back, spine arched as much as he can held like he is. “If you don’t-” he huffs, dragging the blankets up just a little more with his struggling, “if you don’t hurry up I’m going to get up and leave, I’ll  _ leave _ I don’t know where I’m gonna go but-”

 

Ray runs his mouth like that for a minute or two, but it feels like hours- and all it does is amuse Ryan. He’s not looking for the threats and insults that spill out of Ray’s mouth, he’s waiting for the begging and after a minute or two he gets what he wants. All it takes is a slow drag out and an even slower push in and he gets the desperate sob-huff he was waiting for. After that it’s  _ please _ and  _ I need it _ and honestly if Ray had started with that they wouldn’t have been waiting so long. Ryan skips letting Ray adjust to his brutal pace and steps right back into it, which earns him a hissed  _ yes _ and some curled toes.

 

Ray falling apart was a sight Ryan wouldn’t mind being his last. It was like a cascade, his shoulders tensed up and then everything followed, the muscles under the skin over his stomach panicked and if Ryan hadn’t been holding them he was sure Ray’s hips and legs would shake apart. Ray’s still ragdoll fuck-limp when he feels Ryan follow him over the edge and for a minute or two they sit there stopped in time, shuddering and breathing. 

 

Ryan lets his hips down and Ray can’t help the groan that slips out, happy to finally sink into the soft mattress. They stay like that for a minute or two, Ryan still settled between Ray’s thighs, doubled over enough that he can rest his chin against Ray’s stomach just below his ribcage. Eventually he snakes his hands underneath Ray to rest one over either of his shoulder blades and as soon as Ray nods Ryan leans backwards, taking Ray with him so they’re both sitting up. “Shower?” Ray asks, only mildly annoyed Ryan is making him move around after that. When he gets a nod he just throws his arms around Ryan’s neck and allows him to haul the both of them to the bathroom. Ryan sets Ray down to sit on the top of the toilet seat while he fiddles with the taps to put the water at an acceptable temperature. 

 

Only when Ryan is mostly undressed does Ray bother taking his sweater off. His dysphoria isn’t as vicious as it used to be but he still isn’t fond of seeing himself shirtless most days.  When they climb into the shower there’s no real rush to clean off right away. Ryan kisses him lazily and Ray allows himself to get more and more sleepy, dropping the tension from his shoulders and spine bit by bit. 

 

After shower time it’s (mercifully) bedtime. Ryan helps Ray into time softened shorts and one of his own shirts, finding pajama bottoms for himself and forgoing a shirt or sweater. Ryan lays down first and tugs Ray to follow himself afterward and Ray takes it as a chance to finally burrow into Ryan’s side like he usually does. One of his legs hooks around one of Ryan’s and he tosses an arm across the hitman’s chest, the inside of his wrist resting just over a strong heartbeat. 

 

By the time Ray feels everything start to drift away, he’s dimly aware of people moving around in other parts of the penthouse, light peeking out from behind Ryan’s blackout curtains. Nobody will call on them, Ray is fairly sure, so he stops holding onto his last threads of consciousness and gives into the soft tide of sleep. It pulls him out to an ocean that’s dreamless but just as comforting as the solid form of Ryan’s body and the sensation of someone else’s warmth. 

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact this took me almost 4 months to actually write???
> 
> anyway, come say hi at macheenima.tumblr


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